As you all sat around the campfire
I hope you kept me in mind
And thought to yourself
"Oh what a wonderful life."
But to be honest you probably
Didn't remember a lot
The morning after;
Just as you failed to recall
Your promises made to me before.
Span the hour of dark intent,
the raven's flight slips through the night.
Phantom shadows dance by campfire light,
and gossimer moonlight shines.
Unseen footsteps heard in the dark,
some black nightmare approaches.
Huddled around a campfire,
We each seek
A little oasis of light and warmth
On the darkest and coldest of nights.
Looking into each others eyes,
Seeing faces lighting up with laughter,
Or tears running down cheeks.
It doesn't matter which.
As long as we face each other,
We see the light, and hear the love
We create for each other.
Whenever we turn away,
Gaze into the shadows
And imagine we are
In a Universe
Without light and
We often feel surrounded by darkness
And totally lost.
Which is more real,
The world in which,
We sit alone,
Or one in which,
We sit together...
Your eyes burn in eager greens
hazel upon inspection
little strokes of fire in between
Your lips part with intention
always standing by every word
I can feel sparks illuminate our contentions
but it was deviations of feeling we always seemed to have heard
Hands that want to hold but search for answers on my skin
kindled comfort in passion
felt their way in
You intoxicate every cell
and I'd rather not explain
how each excessive thought is a sweeter taste of hell
a simpler dose of pain.
It sketched and slapped an ombre
of crimson reds
& tangerine oranges
until it carved a comfortable atmosphere
amongst the void blacks
and howling navy blues.
Her sun bleached hair dangled over her forehead.
They were the vines that tangled
into wispy curls of tiger's eye gold that
hung lavishly in front of the youngest
Her eyes were sour,
a Blink and a whistle.
Someone coughing on the last bus outta town.
Those powerful cheek bones,
that she obtained through her
constant "according to" accordion smile,
fell off into a pair of lips
that were just pronounced enough
to make her look like she would laugh & kill,
tempt or incinerate.
Intellect winked from her every word
like a whip of cold water and eggnog.
The Campfire was an artist.
It delicately plucked a scene
ripe with confidence and relaxed alcohol.
A tone that made her amazonian scowl
seem intimate and gentle.